


just let me taste a little more (want and want and want more)

by technicolouredmonochrome



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technicolouredmonochrome/pseuds/technicolouredmonochrome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it happens, Newt doesn’t remember much of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just let me taste a little more (want and want and want more)

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Infidelity, partners being kept in the dark about said infidelity, no happy ending for our lovely threesome, I'm really sorry I shouldn't be writing this.
> 
>  
> 
> Basically I'm supposed to be studying for my A'levels but this fucking idea wouldn't leave my head. I blame it on my [thominewt](http://technicolouredmonochrome.tumblr.com/post/99315114662/so-thominewt-headcannons-because-wth-is-wrong) headcannon dump.

The first time it happens, Newt doesn’t remember much of it. All he sees in the morning are flashes of skin, the feel of Minho’s mouth moving against his abdomen, the taste of whiskey heavy and damp on Thomas’ tongue. He blinks himself awake because _that was a strangely specific fantasy_ but when he turns and Thomas is next to him, hair tousled and mouth cherry-red, his heart stops in his chest.

“Morning,” comes Minho’s gruff voice from the other side of the room, and when Newt looks, he has one towel slung low around his waist and is using another to dry his hair. The muscles pull and stretch and shift against his skin, and Newt suddenly remembers – awfully vividly too – his teeth scraping the underside of those abs.

 _Oh god_.

Thomas chooses that moment to wake up, eyes still hazy and heavy with sleep before they widen. Newt sees the exact moment when he remembers the previous night – eyes widening, jaw going slack, a slight dip in the blanket when the breath leaves his lungs in a rush – and he sits up so fast the blanket flies off of him.

Leaving in its wake a very, _very_ naked Thomas.

Minho tosses his towel to him, and it lands strategically over his crotch, and despite the heat on his face Thomas still manages to shoot Minho a grateful smile, which Minho returns with a smirk of his own.

“Honestly though, you really have nothing to hide. There’s nothing on you Newt and I haven’t seen after last night,” he adds with a wink and saunters back into the bathroom, leaving Thomas spluttering in his wake.

And Newt just stares.

 _Stares_.

Because _holy fuck_ he just had sex with both of his best friends.

 _Holy fuck_.

“Newt are you okay?” Thomas asks, and Newt can only imagine the shade of red he must be right now, and he lets out a low groan.

“Alby,” is all he says, and even the word tastes like _betrayal_ and _guilt_ on his tongue.

“Fuck,” Thomas breathes, face collapsing as he takes in the full implication of the word. “ _Teresa_.”

“You two were pretty out of it last night,” Minho calls from the bathroom. “Completely inebriated, can’t be held responsible for your actions,” and Newt thinks he hears _bitterness_ in Minho’s voice but he can’t be sure, because Minho’s put on his clothes and is standing at the door to the bathroom with a smirk firmly in place. “Alcohol and bad decisions,” he finishes with a shrug. “No big deal.”

“No big deal?” Newt finds himself saying, voice suspiciously high-pitched, and it sounds an awful lot like the beginnings of a _shriek_. (But Newt doesn’t shriek, doesn’t _do_ shriek. Not Newt. No way.) “ _No big deal_?”

“If Teresa finds out, I’m _fucked_ ,” Thomas says, hands fisted in his hair and head between his knees. “ _Completely_ , _utterly_ , _fucked_.”

Minho’s smirk drops, but only for a moment, and Newt feels a pang of something in his chest (that he’d rather not give a name to), but watches him roll his eyes at them before moving into the room to pick up their clothes. “Then we don’t let them find out,” is his solution, and Newt almost screams that _It can’t be that fucking easy_ when Thomas looks up and looks at him.

“We can’t let them find out.”

And it’s wrong, so, _so fucking wrong_ , that his chest feels like collapsing in on itself with all the panic that’s fighting its way out of his lungs and _holy fuck_ he _loves_ Alby (and what the fuck has he _done?_ ) and he can’t lose him, so “What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” he finishes for Thomas with a grim nod. They both turn to Minho, and Newt feels the tightening in his gut, because _Minho has no one he needs to keep this from_ and _surely he wouldn’t_ –

“I don’t kiss and tell,” he says and tosses them both their clothes. “Though you might not want to have sex for a couple of days, because all those bite-marks _will not_ pass a _I’ve-not-had-sex-with-anyone-but-you_ test.”

Newt looks down, alarmed, as Thomas rushes into the bathroom, and the last thing he hears is Minho’s laughter following him out the door before it clicks shut.

 

* * *

 

So, like they promised, they don’t talk about it. _Ever_.

Monday rolls around and he and Alby make their way over to where Thomas and Teresa are seated. If Teresa and Alby notice that Thomas and Newt are more tense then usual they don’t say a word, just continue chatting happily about teachers and classes, until Alby makes a disappointed noise and Newt is forced to crane his neck to see what Alby’s shaking his head at.

Minho’s surrounded by a group of cheerleaders, all giggling and touching him as he talks about one thing or another. It’s so _Minho_ that something in Newt’s chest _aches_ , and when he looks across the table at Thomas, he sees him studiously shoving food into his mouth.

“Do you think he’ll ever give up his whoring ways?” Teresa asks dryly, but shoulders Thomas over when Minho finally shakes the girls off to slide into the seat next to her.

“Not feeling up to it today?” Alby says, the slight twitch of his mouth betraying his amusement even as Teresa shuffles away from where Minho is leaning against her.

“I bet you’ve contracted some strange STD from all the sex you’ve had,” she says with mock disgust. “Stay the hell away from me.”

“Aww,” Minho replies with a pout, dropping his eyelashes low and batting them at her, “I love you too baby.”

Teresa huffs out a laugh at his antics and Alby just shakes his head, but Newt doesn’t feel anything but the twisting sensation in his gut because–

Thomas has stopped eating completely and Newt gives him a swift kick under the table because _dead-fucking giveaway shithead_ , which makes Alby look at him curiously while Teresa frowns at the sudden tension between them.

It’s Minho who speaks up ( _the irony_ ). “You two okay?”

“Yeah,” Newt replies a little too quickly, but doesn’t look at either Minho or Thomas in the eye as he says it, and doesn’t turn to Alby because he’s _terrified_ he’ll see the lie, just stares at Teresa because she’s his safest bet.

(Except she narrows her eyes at him and Newt feels an awful lot like he’s been _found out_ , but then Thomas steals her apple and the strange tension at the table vanishes instantly with the loud _whack_ that she lands on the back of his head.)

There’s a giggle at the head of the table and Newt catches blonde and leggy from the corner of his eyes (talking to _Minho_ no doubt), and Teresa’s leaning against Thomas and trying to steal his pudding, so he presses more firmly against Alby and thinks (tries to _convince_ himself) that “It’s better this way.”

When Teresa ends up pressing a kiss to Thomas’ lips and Minho leaves the table with an arm around blonde-and-leggy, Newt turns his face into Alby’s neck and thinks ( _convinces himself_ ), again, “ _It’s better this way_.”

(When Newt is in the shower with a hand around his dick, thinking about Thomas’ tongue in his mouth, and Minho’s mouth on his ass, and the whimpering noises Thomas makes into his mouth as Minho jerks him off slow and steady, and he comes with a muffled cry, cheek pressed against the cool tile of the dormitory wall, he thinks ( _again_ ) to himself “It’s better this way.”)

 

* * *

 

Except the next Friday night ends with them tangled together in bed, Newt’s mouth over Minho’s cock, Thomas straddling Minho’s chest and kissing him to within an inch of his life, Minho’s hand fisted tight in his hair and another pressing bruises into the skin of Thomas’ hip, and Newt’s only coherent thought is “Minho tastes really fucking good.”

 

The next morning, they don’t say a word to each other, but Newt wakes just in time to see Minho leave, folding their clothes and placing it neatly in the chairs next to the bed. (He thinks he feels a kiss to his forehead before the door swings shut, but he’s too out of it to remember.)

 

And then Monday comes around and Minho’s flirting with a gaggle of girls (and a couple of cute theatre boys), and Newt’s back to being in love with Alby and Thomas and Teresa are being disgustingly cute, and the guilt just weighs heavily in Newt’s chest because _he doesn’t regret it_. And _fuck_ if that does shit to him because as much as he wants Alby, he also wants Thomas and Minho.

(So he pretends it doesn’t hurt when Minho slings an arm around a lanky boy, no taller than Newt, with hair the raven of Thomas’ and leaves with a salacious wink; when Thomas kisses Teresa on the nose, face breaking into a heart-breakingly _adoring_ smile when she talks about her courses and how she’s acing them; when he kisses Alby and lets him fuck into him, all slow and careful and so _perfect_ that in that moment he can’t imagine ever wanting anything else.)

 

* * *

 

That Friday, they do it again.

 

The next morning, they leave without a word.

 

The following Monday, they go about their lives as if nothing has happened.

 

Wash.

 

Rinse.

 

Repeat.

 

* * *

 

Because here’s the thing, Newt has a boy ( _Alby_ ), Thomas has a girl ( _Teresa_ ), and Minho’s not supposed to have anyone. Sure they have blackout drunk sex every Friday evening, but it doesn’t mean a thing; not when Teresa’s busy hanging out with her girlfriends and Alby’s out with his family; not when Minho has an evening when he doesn’t look at anyone else _but them_ ; not when Thomas looks at them with open awe and adoration in his eyes; not when Newt pours nothing but _love_ into his actions, his kisses, his touch, and pulls them apart as they pull him apart and they do it over and over and over again.

It doesn’t mean a fucking thing, because Newt has a boy ( _Alby_ ), Thomas has a girl ( _Teresa_ ), and Minho’s not supposed to have anyone anyway.

So when Minho leaves before they wake up it doesn’t hurt, and neither does the lingering touch of Thomas pulling the blanket over Newt’s bared shoulder.

Because he’s in love with Alby, has been, always will be, and “It’s better this way,” even as the bed grows cold in the mid-morning sun.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t end until _it does_.

Friday comes around and somehow Alby is at the party too, and Newt’s trying to think of ways to escape him so that he can get back home with Thomas and Minho when Teresa comes around the corner hanging off Thomas’ arm. She greets him with a hug and a laugh, and he looks at Thomas over her head, watches his gaze turn a little sad and longing, before he shakes himself out of it and gives him a smile.

“ _Finally_ ,” Minho drawls, already halfway to drunk, slinging an arm around Alby who shrugs him off good-naturedly. “You guys finally decide to _live_ a little?”

“We live _plenty_ , thank you,” Teresa ribs him in return.

“Constant sex with a single, dedicated partner does _wonders_ for your life,” Alby completes with a smirk, curling an arm around Newt.

His heart thuds loudly in his chest while Teresa full out laughs as she presses a kiss to Thomas’ cheek, who looks as caught in the headlights as Newt feels, and _oh god_ the guilt that he’d been suppressing for _god knows how bloody long_ hits him full force and is making him sick and he can’t do this, he can’t he can’t _he can’t_ –

“Minho!” some girl coos as she sidles up to him and he grins at her before pressing a sloppy kiss to the corner of her mouth, and it makes Newt almost sag in relief and scream in anger ( _because Minho is fucking_ theirs _on Friday nights you **whore**_ ) so he tugs on Alby’s arm and tells him he doesn’t feel so good.

“You okay?” Alby asks him worriedly, all furrows between his eyebrows and so goddamned earnest that it makes him feel worse (Alby deserves _better_ , better than fucked up, cheating _Newt_ ) and he resolutely _does not_ notice Thomas or Minho glance at him as he says that, just tugs on Alby’s arm again and tells him that they should go.

And when they leave the loud music and too-bright lights he finally breaks down and cries, blubbers and says “ _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sosososorry_ ,” which Alby hushes him for.

“There’s nothing to worry about sweetheart,” Alby keeps telling him, “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

But it _is_ all Newt’s fault but he can’t bring himself to say it, so he shuts his eyes and tries to will away the world, Alby’s soft litany of “It’s okay baby, it’s not your fault,” keeping him afloat.

 

* * *

 

(The next morning, he wakes up to find himself in Alby’s arms, and despite feeling safe and warm and loved, he feels lost and sad and like a piece of him has been ripped out.

His phone blinks with two unread messages, and he sees an _i wish i cud iwishicud_ from Thomas, followed by another from Minho that simply says _me too_.

When he scrolls further up, he realizes he’d sent out the first message to them both some time in his drunken haze. His finger hovers over the ‘delete’ button, and a single glance at a still sleeping Alby firms up his resolve and he deletes the thread, the single message he’d sent out forever burnt into his eyelids even as he lays back down on the bed and burrows into Alby’s arms.

 _want u both, need u both. miss u._ )

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at my [tumblr](http://rachelwritesfic.tumblr.com/) and tell me what you want me to write next.


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